Page 50 of Flirting with Trouble

“You’re so arrogant.” She goes up on her toes and says, “And I like it,” then presses her lips to mine, shocking the hell out of me. Loving this carefree side of her, I wrap my arm around her and take the kiss deeper.

When our lips finally part, I keep her close and say, “That’s good, because I like you, too, sweet thing.”

“What’s not to like?” she teases as the band starts playing another song, and we sway to the music. “This is so fun! I feel like I’m back in college.”

“I bet you were a blast in college. I wish I knew you then.”

“You were probably still in high school when I graduated from college.” Her beautiful eyes narrow. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I’ll be thirty-two at the end of this year.”

“Ohmygod. You were in high school!”

I grin and sing, “You know I like my sweet thing a little bit older,” to the tune of “Your Love” by The Outfield. She laughs, and I tug her into another kiss.

We dance and drink and have an amazing time for the rest of the concert. When the last song comes to an end, everyone in the park is on their feet cheering, clapping, and whistling. Winners are announced, and there’s a flurry of commotion as concertgoers gather their things.

“What did you think?” I ask as we toss our empty cups in a trash can. “Are any of the bands worth sticking around and talking to?”

“I thought they were all really good, and the second band has potential.”

“You liked the Naked Monkeys?”

“Yes.” She laughs. “What a name.”

“I like it. You can’t help but smile when you hear it, and that’s got to be good for marketing, right?”

“It can be. Thanks for offering to stick around and for bringing me here. This was incredible, but I need to do some research on the band and its members before I talk to anyone. What did you think of the bands?”

“I thought they were all great, but I’m just here for the company. What do you say we get out of here and explore?” I take her hand, heading toward the path that winds through the park.

She glances at our joined hands.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just been a long time since I held anyone’s hand.”

“Five years?” I ask carefully.

She shakes her head. “More like thirty. Harvey wasn’t a hand holder. My dad was. Sometimes he still is.”

Once again, I like that what we have is different from what she had with Harvey. I lift our joined hands. “What do you think?”

Her smile reaches her eyes. “It’s kind of nice.”

“I’ll take that.” I squeeze her hand, and we walk along the path for a few minutes in comfortable silence. “I’m glad you had fun. Have you always been into music?”

“Pretty much. My dad plays guitar, and when I was young, he’d play classic rock, which is probably why I like it. He taught us all how to play when we were kids.”

“I bet that was fun. Do you guys still play?”

“I don’t think Clay and Flynn play anymore, but that’s not a bad thing. They were never very good.”

“Ouch.” I laugh.

“They weren’t. Clay didn’t have the patience for it. He always wanted to be running around playing ball, and Flynn wanted to be out exploring.”

“How about the rest of you?”